


Weight of the World

by HalcyonTraveler



Category: RWBY
Genre: Atlas - Freeform, Atlas Academy, Crime, F/F, F/M, Gen, Intrigue, contains graphic descriptions of political debates, grievous misuse of office supplies, supporting OCs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-11 10:03:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13521927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HalcyonTraveler/pseuds/HalcyonTraveler
Summary: When the murder of a member of the Atlas Council shocks the kingdom, Winter Schnee is put in charge of finding the person responsible as General Ironwood attempts to secure the now-vacant Council seat for his preferred candidate. Meanwhile, in Mantle, the young leader of the Atlas branch of the White Fang struggles to fulfill his duties in the wake of a peace deal with the local gangs.





	Weight of the World

**Author's Note:**

> (This story begins a few months before Volume 1, and is planned to continue until shortly before Volume 4)

Winter Schnee marched briskly through the gates of Atlas Academy, trying desperately to conceal her panic. Though it would be another few hours until sunrise, students were milling anxiously about the courtyard, talking to one another in hushed voices. Winter tried to ignore them. She was upset as it was without having to listen to whatever wild rumors were flying around. It would be best to hear from the General first in order to best assess the situation.

The waiting room outside of General Ironwood’s office was abuzz with chatter. Nearly a dozen officers were speaking with each other, trying to calm panicked students, and waiting impatiently for the General’s attention. Ironwood’s secretary, a small woman with the countenance of a wolverine, glared at Winter with beady yellow eyes as she approached the desk. 

“Another one? Gods damn it, any more and we’ll have a fire safety code violation on our hands on top of everything else!” She took a deep breath. “Ugh, what the hell, being crushed to death by a panicked stampede would be better than this anyway. Name?” 

Winter blinked. She wasn’t used to that sort of language being used by employees of the Atlas military. “Um… Schnee.” 

The secretary scanned the screen in front of her. “Winter or Jacques?”

Winter blinked in surprise. “Winter.”

The smaller woman nodded. “Good, because I’m not supposed to let Jacques Schnee within fifty yards of General Ironwood’s office. Alright, looks like the General’s waiting for you right now, head straight through the door and- SHUT THE FUCK UP, YOU CACOPHONOUS BABOONS -take the first right.” She grabbed a stapler and stood up. “Now excuse me, I have to deal with these morons.” 

Winter left the waiting room just before the screaming began and took a right into the main briefing room. She’d never seen the room before before, as the only times she’d visited the General’s office was in his capacity as Headmaster back when she was attending the academy. As an agent of the Special Operatives Division, she’d occasionally spoken to him via remote call or in the larger briefing rooms at the Central Military Complex in the city, but now, for the first time in years, she found herself face to face with General James Ironwood up close. 

He was… smaller than she remembered. Not in size- certainly, he was tall, broad shouldered, and muscular- but standing at a podium or lecturing squads of specialists he’d always seemed so commanding in presence and posture. The man who stood before her now wasn’t majestic or larger than life. He was slumped in his seat, his eyes red from tears, and she could see from the empty flask in front of him that he had been drinking. He felt uncomfortably, unbearably human. 

He glanced up at her and straightened in his seat, regaining some small amount of composure. “Schnee,” he said, beckoning to the seat to his left, “please, sit.”

“Your secretary’s methods are… unorthodox,” Winter noted as the sounds of cursing and occasional screams of pain echoed from the waiting room. 

The General sighed. “She’s a little rough around the edges,” he admitted, “but I owed her mother a favor. And as an additional bonus, most officers are too afraid to bother me now unless it’s a matter of vital importance.” He gave her a forced smile, but it quickly faltered and his gloomy expression returned. “Your fellow specialists should be here shortly,” he told her. 

It was a silent, awkward three minutes before Wellesley and Moreau arrived. Specialist Wellesley was a heavily-built huntsman whose rather archaically-styled armor always reminded Winter of the gigantic suits of mail that her father kept as decoration around the manor. Moreau, on the other hand, was dressed in a combat skirt that seemed more appropriate for a formal dinner than a military excursion at first glance, though Winter knew from experience that it did nothing to impede her in battle. She grinned widely when she saw Winter, though the smile quickly vanished when she saw the somber expressions of the others. “Is something wrong?” She asked anxiously as she pulled up a chair. 

“Are you blind and deaf, Moreau?” Wellesley asked. “How haven’t you heard!?” 

“Wellesley,” Ironwood warned, “mind your tone.” 

“My apologies, sir.” Wellesley didn’t sound very sorry. He removed his helmet and took a seat opposite Moreau’s. 

Ironwood sighed. “It’s alright, Specialist. We’re all under a good deal of stress right now.” He saw Moreau’s nervous glance towards him at that. “I suppose it’s time I address why I called you here. Some of you might have heard rumors and speculation, so let me give you the truth of the matter. The reports are true. At twelve fifteen last night, Councilman Alexander Greyson was killed, along with his personal bodyguard, Lawrence leBlanc. The Atlas City Police Department discovered the bodies at around one o’clock, and have taken a suspect into custody.

“Things are… difficult right now. The public is quickly becoming aware of the incident, and the panic that’s caused has led to a sudden increase in grimm activity along the southern border. I’ve directed Specialist Elsinore Braun to lead a dozen Special Operatives to contain the incursion, but you three have what may be an even more important job.” 

“If Atlas needs us,” Winter said, “we won’t hesitate.”

“I appreciate your readiness, Schnee. That willingness to put yourself at risk for our kingdom is part of why I’m assigning you to lead this mission.”

Winter was taken aback. She had served for several years, but the task of leading an operation, especially one seemingly vital to the kingdom’s security, usually fell to a specialist with a decade of experience at least. Wellesley had three years of experience on her, so why was he trusting her with this? She chided herself for questioning the General’s decision and saluted. “I won’t fail you, sir.” 

Ironwood seemed to almost smile at that. “I’m certain you won’t, Schnee. Your mission will be to find the Councilman’s killer and put him or her behind bars, preferably establishing a motive in the process. If we’re lucky, the killer was a lone wolf, but if there’s something bigger going on we need to know and fast.”

“Sir,” Moreau asked, “don’t the police already have a suspect?” 

“They do, but a cursory glance at his criminal record is enough to tell he’s unlikely to have committed the crime. He’s only committed a couple dozen misdemeanors and a few other nonviolent crimes, and Chief Hound doubts he has the skill or motive to be the killer. She does, however, suspect he might have seen something.”

“So,” Wellesley said, “that’s our only lead?” 

“Not entirely. The labs down at the central police precinct have been working on a report that might shed some light as well.” He glanced at the clock on the wall. “You are dismissed,” he said, “the Council is meeting to discuss our next course of action in an hour, and I need to prepare.” 

Winter walked with her two comrades out into the waiting room. It was mostly empty now, save for an unfortunate student who appeared to have been stapled to the wall. 

“I can’t believe we’re working together again,” Moreau told Winter. “It’ll be just like old times!” 

Iris Moreau had worked closely with Winter during their school years. Winter had been good friends with Magnolia, the leader of Iris’s team, so they had collaborated on many assignments and even occasionally on missions, even though Winter was a couple years older. Winter had always been a bit befuddled by Iris’s unending cheer, but having her around was a strange comfort when things got bad. 

“A man is dead,” she reminded Iris. 

“I’m just trying to look on the bright side,” she said defensively, though her tone was a bit more somber now. 

“So, ‘boss’,” Wellesley asked, “what’s our first move?” There was, as always, a hint of snide condescension in his voice, as if he were challenging her to come up with a plan that met his standards.

Winter tried to ignore it. “We split up. You go down to the forensics lab and see what they’ve found. Moreau and I will deal with the witness. We’ll meet back up in the lobby of the central precinct, then meet with Chief Hound to discuss our findings and decide where me go from there.” 

He shrugged. “Fine by me. I’ll get the paperwork, you deal with whatever moron they have locked up.” He grinned cockily. “I’m sure Moreau can pick up the slack if that’s too difficult for you.” 

Winter glared, but didn’t respond. As much as she’d love to punish Wellesley for insubordination, he was rather competent, and might end up being an asset rather than just an ass. 

Instead, she ignored the jibes and began marching toward the docks. “We’re moving out,” she said, and then left the room before Wellesley could make another remark.

 

\----

 

The sun was rising as James Ironwood’s convoy pulled up to the capitol building. Armored military vehicles flanked his sleek white car on either side, with an additional pair both in front and in back. It was an entirely unnecessary formality- the General could defend himself from threats that would decimate the security detail with ease- but James’s staff felt more at ease with the added protection, so he humored them. 

James stepped from the car in a daze, and walked numbly towards the grand steel and marble entrance of the building, a pair of androids at either side. Normally, a council meeting elicited no more than a sense of frustration at the sheer tedium of the process, but today that was overshadowed by grief and an inexplicable dread.

He was greeted at the entrance by Councilman Timur Pike of the Reform Party. The venerable Councilman saluted in respect. “Greetings, General,” he said in a booming baritone voice, “it is good to see you, though I wish we met under better circumstances.”

James gave a stiff nod but remained silent.

“I am sorry for your loss,” the Councilman continued as the two of them proceeded into the building toward the Council chamber, “I know you and Councilman Greyson were close.”

“Yes,” he managed, “we were.” It was still hard to believe. He’d known Alex Greyson since his days as a student, over two decades ago. And now he was gone… He inhaled deeply, trying to push the grief away. It would not do to have the rest of the Council see his tears. 

Still, Pike seemed to sense what he was thinking, and his wizened features softened. “If you need someone to talk to, I might be of some help. It’s hard to avoid losing old friends at my age, and most of my old comrades have long since passed away.” At the age of ninety-seven, Pike was one of the few surviving veterans of the Great War. 

James considered his offer as they walked in silence. Finally, as they rounded the corner and came face to face with the great double doors which led into the Council chamber, he said, “I appreciate the concern, Councilman, but I’m afraid I have more urgent matters that need to be addressed.”

“Selfless as always.” Pike shook his head. “It’s not a crime to take some time for yourself. I’ve seen great men unravel from the stresses of command, General. Please, at least give yourself a chance to mourn, for the Kingdom’s sake if not your own.” He placed a hand on his shoulder. “And for  _ my _ sake. It hurts to see you like this.” 

That hurt. James had known Timur Pike since he had been a teacher at Atlas Academy, and James just a troubled student. He had been aimless, without guidance or confidence, until Pike had helped him onto his feet. He was more like a father to him than his own had ever been. But now they were on opposite sides, and the days where James could open up to the old man were over. 

He silently pushed open the large doors that led into the Council chamber. It was a large room, its walls covered in grand murals depicting rather romanticized scenes from Atlas and Mantle’s histories. The mural directly in front of them, a grand image of the last king of Mantle’s gift of the first Cross Continental Transmit system at the end of the Great War, was the newest, commissioned by James’s predecessor as a symbol of unity between the kingdoms. Councilman Ash Mateus stood in front of the painting, examining it in solemn contemplation. 

Mateus turned as the other two Councilmen entered. “Ah-ah, good, good! I suppose this is the entire Council, for the time being.” He pulled out a chair from the grand circular table which stood in the center of the room. 

The council table had five seats, but today two sat empty. Three seats were elected democratically by the three electoral districts of Atlas, and with Alexander Greyson’s death only two were occupied. The other empty chair was a ceremonial seat, representing the additional vote held by the Headmaster of Atlas Academy. It had sat empty for forty years, since the position had been combined with that of Supreme Commander of the Atlesian Armed Forces, which itself had a seat on the Council. James now held both seats, though thankfully he was only obligated to sit in one. The Lower Council, which had consisted of seven seats, four from the outer villages and three from Mantle, had been abolished fifteen years earlier due to rampant corruption, so now the Council was only three. 

James took his seat in the traditional place of the Supreme Commander. It took him a moment to compose himself. The Council needed a strong leader right now, not a huntsman still in shock over the loss of a dear friend. He steeled himself, tried to put on a strong face, and addressed the two Councilmen. “We meet today under grave circumstances: the death of one of our own. This is the first successful assassination of a sitting member of the Atlas High Council since its inception, and the protocol for such an occasion is… unclear, to say the least.”

“To be more specific,” Councilman Mateus said, “the current laws still indicate that a member of the Lower Council be placed in the deceased’s stead until a successor is elected. Needless to say, that isn’t an option.” 

James nodded. “It’s obvious that a special election must be called to elect Councilman Greyson’s replacement. The real question is what to do in the meantime.” 

“In the meantime,” Mateus said. “There is no meantime! The election must be called immediately. If the polls open and close before the week is out, we’ll have a replacement in office before the next Council meeting!” 

“And what about the campaign,” Pike asked. “The people cannot be expected to vote without knowing the candidates and their platforms! We need a minimum of three months before the polls open.”

“And what do you expect us to do between now and then, Pike? We can’t let the Council sit idly by for months while the candidates try to weasel their way into office! We have a kingdom to run!” 

“The people voted Greyson into office. Though I may not agree with all of his policies, as a fellow member of the Military Party, the best choice to hold his seat until the election is General Ironwood.” 

Mateus looked appalled. “That’s insane! One man holding three Council seats would be tantamount to a king!” 

“You don’t trust that I wouldn’t attempt a coup, Councilman?” James asked. Mateus knew him better than that, didn’t he?

“It’s not about your character, General. We all know you are a man of integrity. But it establishes a dangerous precedent, and, to be honest, while I think it unlikely you’d refuse to step down after the election, I do find it likely that you would use the increased power to push through your agenda without any chance for debate or amendment.” 

“Councilman Mateus’ concerns are legitimate,” Pike said, “which is why I’ve drafted a measure that would grant limited control of the District Beta seat to the General while restricting any potential abuses of power.” He pulled a folder from his briefcase and removed a piece of paper. Despite his socially liberal policies, Councilman Pike was in many ways stubbornly old-fashioned when it came to his personal life, and that included a refusal to convert to doing his paperwork digitally. 

“In summary,” Pike continued, “this measure proposes that General Ironwood be granted the voting power of the District Beta seat with several conditions. Firstly, the election to determine Greyson’s successor will take place in approximately three months on April 12th. Two official debates will be held during this time, with the moderators to be determined. Secondly, any measure that is not of immediate importance can be tabled by a two-fifths minority vote, to be re-evaluated following the appointment of Greyson’s successor. Finally, until the conclusion of the special election, the Council will give up its right to exert any control over polling or the electoral process. These matters will be dealt with by a nonpartisan committee appointed by the Department of Logistics.” 

He handed the paper for James to look at. “Is this to your satisfaction?” 

James read it over twice. The wording was solid, and Pike had given it straight. He’d made no attempt to sneak in any extra provisions. “Very well. I vote ‘aye’.”

Mateus shrugged. “Not that it matters at this point, but I vote ‘aye’ as well.”

“Then it’s settled,” James said, “motion passed with a unanimous vote. I’ll contact the party committees immediately and tell them to select their candidates.”  _ Politics _ , he thought,  _ this should be fun _ ...


End file.
